Protector of the Small
by The Bunnies Will Kill Us All
Summary: The thing about heroes which people always forget is that they have to start somewhere. There we were, whisked away from everything we had loved, feasibly forever, and all because of some bogus prophecy. EomerOC. LegolasOC.
1. Prologue

**Protector of the Small**

_A Lord of the Rings Fanfiction_

**A/N**: Greetings! I have no allusions about what this is. Shamelessly unlikely and unoriginal plotline, though with any luck you'll find it an enjoyable read all the same. EomerOC. LegolasOC. I reply to all reviews at the beginning of each chapter, so please do get in touch!

**Disclaimer**: It is evident that I don't own Lord of the Rings. I would be richer. Also, "Protector of the Small" is a turn of phrase used in Tamora Peirce novels.

* * *

**Prologue: The Prophecies of Arda**

Gandalf ran his thumb over the worn cloth that protected the bundle in his arms. Months of searching and study in Isengard, and he had finally found it. Proof that the One Ring had returned to the realm of men, and proof that it could be destroyed.

Frodo would have to be warned. But first, there was a prophecy to circumvent.

Gandalf hadn't been to Rohan for some time. Theoden was a gracious host, of course. But he clearly sensed that all was not well. Eomer and Theodred sat on either side of their king. Gamling remained his leige's shadow. Gandalf nibbled on some dried fruit, and Theoden took a swig of his ale before speaking.

"So," Theoden started, "what could the Kingdom of Rohan possibly do for Gandalf the Grey?"

Gandalf gave Theoden an appraising look. "It is more a matter of what I can do for the Kingdom of Rohan, old friend."

"The wizard speaks in riddles," muttered Grima, who emerged from the shadows in an unnerving kind of way. Gandalf resolved to keep an eye on that one. He sensed danger. Treachery.

Without speaking, Gandalf revealed his package to the men. Worn cloth, string. He untied it, pulling back the cloth gingerly, revealing an old tome.

"Prophecies of Arda, pertaining in particular to the Third Age." Gandalf said by way of explanation. He rifled through the dusty pages until he found the passage he sought. "Ah. Yes. The arrival of the Chosen Ones."

Gandalf looked up and smiled. Theoden and his kin were not overly impressed, the men of Rohan rarely favoured the way of the scholar.

"This book foretells the coming of two saviours." Gandalf explained. "Individuals of great potential, though this book would suggest that they will be initially helpless."

"What have these people to do with Rohan, Gandalf?" Theoden asked cautiously. "I hardly think you rode all the way from Isengard to tell tall tales."

"You are quite right." Gandalf said. "I am here because Edoras is the safest place for them. Rivendell is too secluded to serve any purpose. Gondor is under the control of Denethor, who I would not trust with a fish let alone a human being, and is far too close to Mordor for my liking. The logical conclusion is that they should stay here, under your protection, Your Grace."

"Why exactly are we in need of saviours?" Theodred asked brashly. "I see no danger. No armies massing."

"There have been whispers of a great shadow being cast over the realm of men. Mordor is stirring." Gandalf leaned back, producing a pipe from his ample robe. "I do not intend to sit idly by and wait for Sauron to unleash his wroth. This book – these people – they will tip the balance in favour of all that is good and green. Rohan will need them, before the end."

That ominous sentiment hung in the air for a moment. All four men looked grim, if not a bit sceptical.

"You wish for me to grant them board in Edoras?" Theoden finally asked. Gandalf nodded, and Theoden allowed himself to relax. "Where are they, then? I would not refuse you this, old friend. Your allies will always be welcome in the Golden Hall."

Gandalf knew that the most challenging part of this negotiation was now before him. "You are very gracious, Theoden-king. But I fear the tome tells us a great deal more about these individuals."

Everyone was listening intently, now. Not just Grima. Theoden waved for him to continue.

"They are not of this world, these chosen ones." Gandalf began. "They have lived in a dream world all their lives, a bizarre world, and I believe that they will soon slip from it's grip. This very eve, if I am correct."

"Why is that a problem?" Theodred inquired.

"They will not be familiar with our ways. They will likely speak above their station, and will be difficult to control. But these are minor concerns, my lords, I have more pressing issues to discuss with you."

"Such as?" Grima Wormtongue asked, eyes alive with curiosity.

Gandalf's eyes flickered to the spectral man for just a moment. "They are women."

General confusion followed. Theoden and Eomer in particular doubted the use of two girls in bringing about victory on the battlefield. Gandalf had feared as much.

He raised a had to stop their chatter. "My lords, I must insist that you trust in the truth of prophecy. This book foretold the coming of the Ring of Power, the fall of Isildur... It has not been wrong before. I simply ask that you give these women board, that you indulge their curiosities, and above all else, keep them safe."

Gandalf then proceeded to rife through the pages of his tome once more. He presented the page he sought to Theoden and the others.

The page was dusty and yellowing, but the illustrations could still be made out. On one side there was an image of a statuesque woman with golden hair. Her face was exquisitely beautiful. In one hand she held a single arrow. "Protector of the Small" - was written in elvish script below.

"Asha, Protector of the Small," Gandalf said with a wry smile, "she will have much to learn and overcome. But the book speaks of great potential, and a true heart."

The second illustration was of a slighter girl with dark hair. There was a certain strength to her build which made the sword in her hand seem almost a part of her. This girl had angular features and bright green eyes.

"Becca, the Wanderer," Gandalf explained, "she will be harder to cage. She will not want to stay here. You must find a way to contain her. The book is clear – if she wanders too far, too soon, she will die."

"Fine, we shall keep them here," Theoden eventually relented, "it is no trouble. But I cannot believe that two mere girls will have much bearing on events to come. Besides, they are supposedly trapped in another realm. How is it you even intend to bring them here?"

Gandalf smiled. "An excellent question, Your Grace. I do not intend to bring them here, they will bring themselves." He glanced out at the moon. "And if I am correct, they will do so very soon. The stars are going out."

Sure enough, the night sky grew dark. One by one, little lights winked out, until only a big bright moon remained. Black wispy tendrils began to creep along the floor of the Golden Hall. Privacy had been requested, so no servant bore witness to the remarkable sight. Grima jumped back, and both Theodred and Eomer had their hands on their swords.

The dark tendrils rose, forming two pillars, and began to disperse. As they cleared, two figures could clearly be made out. Gandalf gave the two disoriented girls an appraising look.

He immediately identified the taller girl on the left as Asha. She was not incredibly lovely, but she had a pleasing symmetry that indicated potential. Her eyes darted around the room, widening as they took in the bizarre surrounds.

The second girl looked more like her picture. Becca's hair had a reddish tinge, but still unmistakably brown. She was toned and strong, Gandalf noted. Her eyes were bright green and her skin was a shade darker than that of her companion. She too exhibited obvious disorientation.

_They_ _will serve_. He thought gravely.

There had been a physical struggle. The girls were confused and afraid. Eomer and Theodred were called upon to restrain them. Their predicament was explained, and then, begrudgingly, Gandalf took his leave of them.

They were in Rohan's hands now. He had a hobbit to visit, and a ring to destroy.

* * *

**A/N**: First chapter to follow soon, and by soon I mean imminently.


	2. The Unlikely Heroines

**Protector of the Small**

_A Lord of the Rings Fanfiction _

A/N: Some introductory prose from Asha and Becca, do enjoy! The actual story will begin in earnest next chapter.

**Summary**: The thing about trauma and isolation which people always forget is that it can be somewhat hilarious. There we were, Becca and I, whisked away from everything we had loved. Stuck in Middle Earth, feasibly forever, and all because of some bogus prophecy. So we decided to record our adventures, so that you might find some pleasure in the retelling of it all. EomerOC. LegolasOC.

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_**Chapter One: The Unlikely Heroines**_

"_**All that is gold does not glitter,  
Not all those who wander are lost;  
The old that is strong does not wither,  
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.  
…From the ashes a fire shall be woken,  
A light from the shadows shall spring;  
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,  
The crownless again shall be king."**_

Now that all is said and done, some argue that I am the light in the shadow that prophecy refers to. Others say that I am the deep roots untouched by frost. Regardless, you will come to know me as Asha.

I have a story to tell you, one of great import. That is, if you find tales of danger and fear and growth important. Love, too, I suppose. Love is what led me down this path to begin with.

Before Middle Earth, a great deal of my time was spent reminding myself that I was just someone like everyone else, except marginally less popular and with bad hair.

I was smart, I knew this. A good thinker, if not a touch lazy and generally unmotivated. I was kind, and I fancied myself a passionate, brave person. But that's never been put to the test in earnest.

In my silly daydreams I was a tempestuous matriarch – as volatile, unforgiving and ultimately beautiful as the sea. But that's not how I'm like, really. Not at all. I'm too sensitive to be brazen, at the end of the day. Too prickly to be looked upon with genuine awe. Too tired to be violent.

My hair is blond. My eyes are brown, but just in the ordinary way – not like dark pools of molten chocolate or anything. Just brown. Just eyes.

But despite the fact that my hair was just hair and my eyes were just eyes, I did come across as somewhat fortunate looking for other reasons. I had a nice face, you see. Proportional, with generous features. Full lips, an inoffensive nose and dark lashes. One day I'd be properly beautiful. Maybe.

I'm tall. And a little plump. Sometimes that's hard – girls are supposed to be small and dainty.

But this is all immaterial to the point at hand. There is a story to tell here, a story of myself and another girl, named Becca. I can only think to start at the beginning.

I lived near the sea, and that was how I liked it. At night I'd walk down to the sandy shore and stare up at the sky, or out at the waves. Sydney was a great city, and I loved it. I loved both the urban sprawl and the languid coastal lifestyle. It was a place that was so many things at once, a state of being wholly compatible with my own nature.

I was staring up at the sky, just like I would any other night, when all the stars started to go out – one by one.

Soon the sky was black, and all my surrounds were disappearing behind tendrils of black smoke. Gone was the sea. Gone was the feeling of sand between my toes and the sound of crashing waves.

New shapes were formed. The outline of a mountain ridge. The rosy glow of the sun peeking out from behind a mighty hill-fort. I felt like I was rushing forward, towards the hill-fort. I almost screamed when it looked like I'd be pulverised against its stone walls, but instead I went right through them.

And then I was there. In a great hall, looking up at a table of men dressed in what I could only comprehend as medieval garb.

I didn't really do anything. I just watched, believing myself mad.

* * *

_**Becca**_

_Not all those who wander are lost._

Given that I am known as the Wanderer, it wasn't hard to figure out that the elves were talking about me when they wrote this. It's strange, though, to think about how far I've come.

I remember wanting to feel something. It's hard to recall life before I was taken, but I remember that. I remember feeling so numb, like I was waiting for my life to start and it just never did.

I expected mediocrity from myself and from others, I remember that too.

I was always athletic-looking. My olive skin gave the impression of health, and to be fair I was actually relatively active. But even so, the change that came over me in Middle Earth made me strong beyond belief.

I had reddish brown hair and greenish eyes. Attractive, but so detached. So cold. I just wasn't able to see the point of most people. Asha's better at that than I am, she brings the humanity and I get stuff done.

Asha would say that I didn't realise that I was strong and brave and good all along. Maybe she's right, but it's all fairly irrelevant now.

I was working when the stars went out.

Hockey umpiring. I wondered how I must have looked, staring up at the sky, slack jawed, while the game was still in play.

When I next surveyed my surroundings, I was standing next to a girl I did not yet know was Asha, looking up at a group of men who I did not yet know were important. Perhaps if I had known I was addressing a king, a wizard and a prince I would have reigned in my language.

Then again, that's likely untrue.

I agreed with Asha when she said that our story needed to be told. So here it is, both her version and mine, written down so that you might learn from it.

* * *

**A/N**: Chapter two to follow.


	3. Many Months Later

******Protector of the Small**

**A/N: **A substantial chapter! Hurrah!

**Summary: **The thing about trauma and isolation which people always forget is that it can be somewhat hilarious. There we were, Becca and I, whisked away from everything we had loved. Stuck in Middle Earth, feasibly forever, and all because of some bogus prophecy. So we decided to record our adventures, so that you might find some pleasure in the retelling of it all. EomerOC. LegolasOC.

* * *

**Chapter Two: Many Months Later**

**_Asha_**

I cried at first. At night, into my pillow. I wept bitter tears for the people I loved and the world I had lost. I cried until there wasn't a tear left in me – until one night when I didn't feel like crying any more.

It was in that state, desolate and numb, that I came to a conclusion.

If I wanted my freedom and my old life, I would have to fight for it.

Rebecca and I became angry. Our names had been changed, to match the fashion of the time. Asha. Becca. Our new names were a betrayal, a denial of our identity. We clung to our memories, but time made them slippery, and soon we forgot even the simplest of things from our pasts.

We spent our days labouring in the kitchens or setting fires in various hearths. It wasn't taxing, but it was mindless. I found no shortage of time to think about the family I loved and the modern technology I had very strong feelings towards.

I had abandoned her hostile approach to my captors weeks earlier, seeing as it was reaping no results. Rebecca, however, was upholding her aggression towards the people of Rohan out of principle. Regardless of our differences, however, we had become fast friends. It was not entirely clear whether or not this was a result of necessity.

"I miss cinemas." I sighed. It was a hot afternoon, and we were sitting on the grass outside the Golden Hall, trying to catch a hint of breeze. "Cinemas have air conditioning."

"I miss air conditioning, full stop." Rebecca replied. "I tried to run away, yesterday." She added.

"I know. They caught you." I nodded. "I still think they're mad. We're not heroes. We don't even get to listen to what's going on. We can't even fight."

"It's insane." Rebecca agreed. "Maybe they'll send us home when they realise that."

"I don't think they know how to send us home," I said soberly, "I think that we're stuck here forever."

"Positive, you are."

"Learnt from the best," I retorted easily. "You were saying just yesterday that we were likely to die of plague or something horrible of that ilk."

"I've now considered the fact that we have modern antibodies. I think we'll live remarkably long lives given the average life expectancy of Middle Earth."

Through the biting back-and-forth, we endured, planning and plotting our way back home. The plan which was enthusiastically named "Operation Hit It and Quit It".

Operation HIAQI was comprised of three simple steps:

#1: Ascertain where they were.

#2: Ascertain where they needed to be.

#3: Ascertain how to get there without dying.

* * *

Eomer entered his quarters, muddy and sweaty and generally unclean after a day down at the training grounds. He began unbuckling his armour, and let his mind wander to the events that had transpired earlier in the day.

Asha, as she was to be known, had been serving in the hall that day. She was having trouble holding the two large pitchers of ale she'd been given and negligently plonked them down on the table as soon as she could. Ale had sloshed onto the table.

"Sorry." She had muttered. She began to pour the ale with more caution.

He had motioned for her to fill his cup. She poured a little too quickly and the cup overflowed onto Eomer's lap. He cursed.

"Sorry!" She exclaimed, straightening her dress nervously as she hovered there.

"It matters not," he had said, waving her away, "I was dirty from training, in any case."

She smiled in her relief. "Thank you."

"Thank you, _my lord_." He corrected her, not ungently.

"Yes." She nodded, frowning. "That."

The other girl, the one with rusty hair, snorted from across the table where she was more successfully filling drinks, muttering indistinctly "... self important, good for nothing... hrmm...".

He didn't know why he had recalled the incident at all. He didn't know why he bothered thinking of the girl with the pleasant face. Edoras was full of pleasant faces. He pulled his tunic over his head, having finally shrugged off his armour. He threw the garment in the general direction of his bed.

There was a sound from the door. An intake of breath.

He turned to see Asha blushing crimson. Thankfully, he had not yet finished unlacing his breeches, so only his chest was bare.

He stared her down and made no move to make himself decent. "Generally people knock."

She was clearly flustered. She made to speak a few times, but the words seemed to get caught in her throat. Eomer grew impatient.

"What do you want?" He asked shortly. "Servants should not intrude in this manner."

"Um, yes, sorry." She managed, keeping her eyes on the floor. "I have a request."

"Then make it." He said roughly. He had little time to indulge the girl, he would be dining with King Theoden tonight, and he intended to do so without the stench of sweat.

"I'd like to learn about this world, and perhaps how to defend myself." She said, this time her voice was a touch stronger. "I believe Becca wants the same. We were wondering if you could find someone to teach us."

"If I find someone to teach you anything, it will be manners," he said shortly.

Her face hardened, and bizarrely tears began to well up. Eomer muttered a curse.

"There's no need to cry," he said harshly, causing the girl to do just that, staring at him accusingly with angry tears streaming silently down her face, "damnit. Fine. You can have your history lessons and play your knife games. Just stop crying."

At that, she pulled herself together. She looked at him with an aggrieved expression which he felt was somewhat unfair.

"Thank you, my lord." She muttered angrily, and took her leave.

* * *

"It was stupid to cry," I complained to Rebecca over a pile of dough. "I wasn't even sad. I was angry. It happens sometimes, I get so angry I cry."

"You're under a lot of stress," Rebecca said fairly. "You know, torn away from everyone and everything you've ever loved."

"Thanks for that," I muttered. "At least we got what we wanted, I guess."

Rebecca nodded. "I think Operation HIAQI will be more successful if we're armed and know where we're going."

"Why do you want to escape?" I asked. "What if the best course of action is to stay here? We don't know what's out there, if it's worse than staying here... more dangerous."

"I want to find that wizard," Rebecca admitted, "if we're to go home, surely it'll be through magic."

"I'm inclined to agree," I said. "But we have no idea where the wizard is. He hasn't been heard from since the night we appeared here."

"He was going to a place called the Shire." Rebecca said certainly.

"Well, then that's just what we're going to have to ask our tutor about when we meet him tomorrow morning." I replied. "We might need to learn how to ride horses, too. The idea of walking to the base of this hill tires me, let alone the idea of walking across a country or two."

"Yeah, but they're baby countries. Not like home. Not like Australia."

"Oh, Australia," I said with relish, "how I miss thy sunshine and general lack of sexism."

"Amen." Bec muttered. "But yes, you're right. We should figure out the deal with horses."

We returned to kneading dough in silence. I let my mind wander to my earlier encounter with the Horse Lord Eomer.

I shivered as I thought of his fierce, brazen expression and the sight of his exposed chest and arms. There was something very raw and masculine about him. I had to admit it was deeply attractive. Modern men were generally clean and doughy, with no real affinity for violence. He was strong. A true warrior.

_All the more reason to keep away_. I thought. _He'd toss you over his shoulder and drag you back to his cave given half the chance. That is, if he was attracted to you in turn. Which he isn't._

* * *

_**Becca**_

Our tutor ended up being Gamling, with whom we'd become well acquainted over the past months. He nodded to us as we took our seats and resumed our lessons from the day before. He pulled a map from a pile of parchment and smoothed it out onto the table, using little pebbles to weigh down the corners. He pointed to one area and looked up expectantly.

"Gondor," I said hesitantly, "Capital: Minas Tirith. Ruled by the House of Stewards since the death of Isildur."

Gamling nodded, his eyes flickered to Ashley.

"Currently ruled by Lord Denethor, to be succeeded by his son, Boromir." Ashley added. "And yeah. That's all I've got."

"Acceptable," Gamling allowed, pointing to another area.

"Rohan," this time I did not hesitate. "Capital: Edoras. Ruled by Theoden, son of..."

"...Thengel." Gamling said.

"Right. Thengel."

"A nation fond of horses?" Ashley provided hopefully.

Gamling sighed. And so went our lesson.

* * *

_**Asha**_

I had been fairly sporadic with my dedication to the martial arts. I only got down to the training ground every week or so. It was my way of convincing myself I wouldn't actually have to do anything dangerous. It was Eowyn who had convinced me.

"_Those who cannot wield swords can still die upon them."_

The sentiment lingered in my mind.

I pulled back the bowstring hesitantly, and let the arrow fly.

It soared through the air and sunk into a nearby tree, completely missing the target.

"I hope your history lessons are going better than your archery." Came a wry voice from behind me.

Eomer. I blushed.

"I managed to hit the target before," I said defensively. "It was just one bad shot."

He gave me a look that indicated he was clearly unconvinced.

I knocked another arrow and took aim.

"Relax your bow arm," he instructed. "Straighten up, you're angling your shot to the left."

I grudgingly obeyed, and let the arrow fly. It wasn't a fantastic shot, but at least this time it hit the target.

"Better," he allowed. "Though you might have more luck with a dagger. A bow isn't a woman's weapon, not that there is such a thing. Bows are for war and hunting."

I glared at him. I knew he was just a product of his time, but I was becoming tired of everyone telling me I was soft and incompetent on account of my sex.

I was soft and incompetent for a myriad of other reasons, none of which had anything to do with my uterus or my lady-brain.

"I like the bow," I shot back, "and I'll thank you to stop making assumptions about my capabilities."

"It's not hard to make assumptions about your capabilities, as they are few," Eomer said darkly. "It's easy to imagine yourself a warrior now, when you're facing a dummy in the training yard. But when you're facing a real enemy, someone who wants to kill you, lets see if you still have your courage."

"You will see," I said stubbornly, "I won't run."

"Then you're a fool, and you will die." He said. "Leave the fighting to the men."

"Where I come from, women fight in armies." I said hotly. "They fight and die and are just as brave as any man. I'm going to work at this, I swear, I'll work at it until I'm so good not even you could beat me."

He didn't reply, he just shot me an incredulous look and walked away.

After that, I practised every day.


End file.
